


to the place i belong

by thankyouforexisting



Category: The Adventure Zone (Amnesty) - Fandom, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (basically canon lol), Canon Universe, Duck-Centric, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gay trans duck, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, body image issues, trans duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouforexisting/pseuds/thankyouforexisting
Summary: " “What do you mean?!” Aubrey cries, throwing herself at Duck and covering him with her arms. “How can you not have watched Ghibli films? God, how have you survived?”“My parents were very Catholic and very racist,” Duck reminds her.Aubrey winces. “Yep, that would do it.” Her nose scrunches up, almost as if she’s disgusted just by imagining it. “How did you turn out like this?”“Rebel teen syndrome?” Duck jokes."/A story in which Duck is a very tired middle aged trans guy, and learns that being happy (and not just okay) is worth it./"Duck meets Ned Chicane in the back of an Arby’s parking lot, where all great friendships are born."





	to the place i belong

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for : transphobia, depression, sex mention, shitty family members, use of the word “queer”, some older trans terminology (“passing” “stealth”). There’s a brief scene with misgendering (set in the past) - this is marked by a beginning section in bold and an ending section in bold.  
> Please be aware that this, while written by someone whose idea of gender rn is ‘god help me’, is not written by a middle aged trans guy from West Virginia. Feel free to correct me and point out mistakes. Thank you.  
> Huge shout out to @softiejace for helping me write about trans men without overstepping.  
> I hope you enjoy this fic, I have the hugest soft spot in my heart for trans!duck and justin's characters finding family. What can I say.  
> Title from "Take Me Home, Country Roads" by John Denver bc fuck you thats why

 

 

_Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did_  
_Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid_  
_And I'm still standing after all this time_  
_Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind_

\- Elton John, "I'm Still Standing"

* * *

 

“Duck,” he says, and ignores the incredulous stares. “It’s a nickname.”

 

…

 

Kepler isn’t a huge town. 

 

It’s not  _ tiny _ , that’s not it, either. The town manages to amass enough population to have its own Pizza Hut, though that’s not saying much by American standards. Hell, one of the businesses is a  _ Cryptid Museum _ , and it’s been getting a lot of tourist attraction ever since the Pine Guard acquired one Ned Chicane. His hometown of  Kepler doesn’t fit into the rural, Southern stereotype of a small town that Duck dreads to even think about, but it’s still...a miniature of the real world. Everyone shops from a locally owned grocery shop (Leo Tarkesian has the best produce, as the old ladies at the plaza will tell wandering young people on their phones a thousand times), there’s about one school which every kid has gone to, and there’s no fading into the background. 

 

The simplicity of Kepler didn’t really use to bother Duck. He’s okay with not being life-changing, hence the rejecting his cosmic destiny and all that. Kepler feels like home to him in a very singular way - he knows its streets, he’s drawn to its people, he loiters around the parks and he feeds stray cats while loudly grumbling at them for asking for scraps (that he’s made them used to). Duck makes turns on streets without even thinking about it, chuckles happily when he sees kids playing with chalk on the sidewalk (they used to do that, before there was that rumour amongst the parents that chalk caused cancer), and has even gotten used to the group of goth teenagers pretending to use a Ouija.  Duck doesn’t need a New York or Los Angeles to feel happy, can live just as well lacking the glamour most movies paint the US with.

 

But sometimes, just sometimes, when Mrs. Larson cheerfully calls him his birth name, when Mom hangs up the phone with a choked out, “I just don’t want you to be  _ miserable _ , sweetheart,”, when Minerva shows up while he’s having a panic attack and he can’t scream because the next door neighbors will  _ know _ -

Sometimes, Duck wishes he were anywhere else.

 

…

 

When Duck was fourteen, his sister got really into Harry Potter.

 

And by really, Duck means,  _ really _ . Jane got obsessed with Harry Potter firstly regarding the books themselves, through pure childish need to know how the story ended, but as the novels were written (and she grew up), her attention drifted towards the rapidly evolving internet fans. It wasn’t long before Jane got into slash fiction and forums, begged Mom for a tattoo with some Dumbledore quote in it or something (her refusing it is one of the few reasons Duck respects her), bought Hufflepuff sheets and Hufflepuff stickers… It was a ride. 

 

Duck didn’t join her, despite the fact that he was kind of jealous of the passion she held for a stupid book series. It was back in the phase where he tried as hard as he could to not like anything that girls might be, back when he sneered at her for liking Hermione and rolled his eyes at her Twilight novels, back when the most masculine thing he could think to do was not care at all.

 

No matter how much he mocked his younger sister and rolled his eyes, though, it’s hard not to absorb Harry Potter, if only by osmosis. A few years later, weathered and old enough to get tips on binding where he could them - old enough to be a bit freer with his media - he tried to get into them.

 

Duck got as far in as the first few pages before he saw the epithet,  _ The Chosen One _ , and had to stop because he started laughing so hard he actually started to cry.

 

…

 

“Duck Newton,” Minerva says, one early morning before his first senior year final. She’s frowning, this time. He’s already rejected her about ten times, but she doesn’t seem to be giving up anytime soon. “You must fulfill your destiny!” That’s when she smiles, just the barest hint of the badly contained excitement she radiates. “I know you will be incredible, Duck Newton!”

 

Duck puts the duvet up so it covers as much of his face as possible, and tries not to let it show that he’s slept in his clothes. Again.

 

Minerva’s going to shit herself if he doesn’t shower for a week for the third time.

 

His cosmic fucking destiny can wait until he feels alive enough to actually get out of bed to face it.

 

…

 

Duck gets his first boyfriend in high school.

 

And then his second.

 

And then his third.

 

And then his fourth.

 

And then he stops keeping count.

 

…

 

“I’m bored.” Aubrey nudges him with her foot. It’s warm...maybe a bit too warm. Duck hopes she hasn’t been putting out fires with it - it wouldn’t be the first time. “What even  _ is _ there to do in Kepler, town of the strange and magical?”

 

He raises an eyebrow and eyes her with intent, though his voice holds no scolding, “You could volunteer at your local national park.”

 

This time, she kicks him. It’s okay, he’s got two points of armor.

 

“I meant something  _ fun _ , tree nerd,” Aubrey smiles, as if she’s amused despite his nonchalant misdirection. She leans over the table at Amnesty Lodge, her hands cupping her face. One of her nose piercings glints in the yellow light of an old lamp near the kitchen, making her half-lit figure glow in the dark. “You must do  _ something _ besides prance around the park telling kids to dump their beer.”

 

Duck snorts. “Yeah, but to be fair, that’s pretty much 90% of the job.” He bites his lower lip in consideration. 

 

If he’s being honest with himself, part of him wants to just wave her off, cradle Kepler’s secrets as close to his chest as possible, keep them his and special, buried so nobody else can find them. It’s hard to wave off the ever-pressing need to hide, to cover his back and make sure he’s got a spot where no one would think to look for him.

 

Another part of him just...really, sincerely  _ likes _ Audrey.

 

Likes her bi pride pin and her colourful hair he’s too afraid to have himself. Likes her bunny and how ridiculously fond of him she is, the way she corrects anyone who doesn’t use his title. Likes the way she’s vulnerable and willing to let it show in front of the people she trusts. Likes the pleased smirk on her face as she lights her fingers and whispers, “ _ Flame on _ .”

 

Maybe Kepler’s secrets...can be shared.

 

“Well…” he says. Dramatic pause. Aubrey leans in even closer, her eyes widening. She’s such a kid sometimes. “There’s a nightclub, if that’s what you’re interested in,” he offers, warming up to the idea. “I don’t really fancy it anymore, given that I’m, y’know,” he gestures at himself.  _ A middle aged, pudgy park ranger _ , is what he means, though Aubrey’s pout makes him smile. “But I know the kids in here think it’s their lifeline to any genuine nightlife. It’s, uh, moderately queer friendly?”

 

Aubrey purses her lips. “That...might be nice. I don’t know if it’s a great idea? Since I can be a bit...much, sometimes. I know some people think I come on a little strong.” Duck would personally like to know where these people live, just, y’know, for a  _ chat _ . “There’s nothing wrong with giving it a try, though - Wait,” she scrunches up her face. “If you don’t go to the nightclub, what  _ do _ you do?”

 

Duck takes a deep breath.

 

“So there’s this local animal shelter -”

 

“ _ Yes _ !”

 

…

 

Duck meets Ned Chicane in the back of an Arby’s parking lot, where all great friendships are born.

 

The guy’s smoking a cigarette that has to be half the size of his entire face, chatting up some girls he’s got in front of him. Duck has an instinctive thought, drilled into his brain from living while being immediately perceived as a girl, of helping the girls out if they’re too drunk to do anything, but it’s clear immediately that they’re not in any trouble.

 

The guy isn’t actually chatting them up for  _ sex _ . He seems to be incredibly invested in some weird story about how the Earth is flat, actually, winking and teasing the girls. Though he  _ is _ being flirty, and seems to be enjoying it a hell of a lot, Duck gets the feeling he’s less trying to practice his  _ moves _ than his storytelling abilities, complete with eliciting dramatic gasps and hesitating right before a key point of the narration.

 

Duck eyes him, amused, from where he’s trying to sober up a little against the wall, wearing his baggiest clothing. He’s an interesting guy. If he didn’t seem  _ definitely _ straight, Duck might try and ask him to tell him some stories, just to keep him entertained on a lonely Saturday night. Jane’s gone again (Poland, this time, with her eyes lit up; stories of little kids and wondrous European oddities through their very expensive phone calls) and Duck refuses to spend some family time with his parents. He’s going to go home with someone or not at all. Hook-ups can be shit, but as long as he doesn’t take his pants off he’s guaranteed some distraction, at least.

 

After a while, the girls scatter, giving the guy a kiss on the cheek and giggling away, holding hands, their wrists covered in glitter. Duck looks away, but not fast enough for the man not to notice him staring.

 

His cheeks blush. Doesn’t matter how many one night stands Duck has had, how desensitized he is to the concept of true love, soulmates and romance in itself. A cute guy catches him being interested and he’s reduced to a puddle, reduced to smoothing out the way his shirt curves around his waist.

 

“Hey.” Duck looks up, startled. Cute storyteller is right beside him, grinning his ear off. He’s got lipstick on his jaw and he’s sweating like a pig. It’s, unfortunately, not making him seem less attractive. “Like what you see?”

 

“Not as much as you liked selling bullshit to those girls,” he mumbles, voice as deep as he can make it - the club might be dark and loud, but his register always gives him away.

 

He’s a terrible liar - he likes it all.

 

“You’re a terrible liar,” the guy says. He holds out his hand. “I’m Ned. What’s your name?”

 

“...John.”

 

“That  _ totally _ isn’t your name, oh my god.” Ned laughs. He’s got a chokey kind of laugh that mixes up his throat. Duck groans. 

 

The dude being aware of Duck’s faults makes him lose a  _ lot _ of points in his view.

 

“It’s Duck, okay?”

 

“...You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” Ned wonders. He sounds almost in  _ awe _ . “God. That’s such a powerful name, Duck. I’m almost jealous, if kind of horrified at your parents.”

 

“It’s a nickname,” he tells Ned. “Anyway, what’s Ned short for?”

 

“Ned  _ fucking _ Chicane,” the guy winks. “And I’m not really interested in you  _ that way _ , sorry -”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I can sense a straight guy well enough.”

 

“Bisexual, actually.” That makes Duck shut up pretty quickly. Ned chortles. “Hoo boy. Can’t believe someone into men wouldn’t want you?” That makes Duck’s toes curl, being so offhandedly acknowledged, even if it’s a bit sad that such small decency can cheer him up. “Your ego must be off the charts.”

 

“It’s not,” he mumbles, kicking a pebble. 

 

Ned smiles. 

 

“Wanna get high in the woods?”

 

Yeah, actually.

 

…

 

Duck’s favorite thing in the entire world is the Monongahela forest.

 

Back when Mom and him were on speaking terms, she used to tell the exact same story in every family gathering, brimming with pride and the feigned exasperation mothers always put on when they’re talking about their kid in front of them, as if they don’t dissolve into blind admiration the moment their back is turned.

 

They’d gone to the national park for a day trip. Dad was actually cooperative about making family plans for once, and Mom was ecstatic about it. Jane kept complaining the entire car ride there, poking her arm out the window and loudly proclaiming that national parks were  _ boring _ and full of  _ bears _ , and Mom didn’t want them to get eaten by  _ bears _ , did she?

 

Duck was okay with it. He was wearing pants, for once, which was nice. Mom had let him put them on because they were going hiking, and skirts weren’t really suited to that sort of movement. He had no particular opinion about the forest itself, really. He thought the trees’ color was sorta nice, and they smelled neat, but hadn’t bothered to think beyond that.

 

It took him about fifteen minutes to fall in love.

 

He could run around as much as he wanted, could hide behind trees, could feel the leaves crunching beneath his pink shoes. The forest seemed big enough for him to get lost in as it went on forever and onto infinity. There were some animals scattered around that ran the moment they saw him, no matter how fast he tried to pursue them and offer them food as a peace offering. More importantly, he managed to find spots of blessed, carefully-kept  _ silence _ . Inside the forest, there was no one to watch, no one to comment and, most importantly, so much to see.

 

“Mom, Mom,  _ Mom, _ ” Duck tugged at his Mom’s skirt, begging and pleading. “Can we  _ pleaaase _ live in the forest? Pretty please? Please? I’ll do everything! I’ll even do chores!  **I’ll even touch the dirty dishes!** ”

 

“Don’t listen to her, Mom!” Jane yelled. She was holding a water balloon - against regulations because of the plastic waste, but Dad had snuck them in. “Duck always says that and then never do anything!”

 

**Dad ruffled his hair.** It was short, then, Duck recalls. Another victory. “Aw, kiddo. It’d be nice if we could live in the forest, wouldn’t it? But people can’t live in the forest.”

 

Duck frowned, “But then who feeds the animals?”

 

“The animals feed themselves,” Dad explained. He was patient, sitting down on a rock and pulling him onto his lap. “They’re self sufficient; they don’t depend on anyone. Not like our cat, eh?”

 

“Self-sufficient,” Duck repeated.

 

Then Jane hit him with a water balloon, and he ran into the forest for five hours before his parents could find him. The park rangers almost organized a search for the missing eight year old. That’s the part Mom tells.

 

It’s not the one Duck remembers.

 

…

 

Every month, like clockwork, Leo Tarkesian leaves a bag of condoms in his mailbox. It’s like he thinks Duck would be too embarrassed to shop for them, since they’re neighbors and they’ve got a sort of camaraderie with each other. 

 

Duck doesn’t need them for himself, and it’s been a really long time since the days where he hooked up and passed out in another person’s bed, too hurt and sick to remember anything (and wanting it that way). He’s also pretty sure Leo knows he doesn’t need them, anyway. Kepler’s a small town, and even if he’s tried to keep himself below the radar, that doesn’t mean some people still stare at him. But Leo Tarkesian delivers groceries, too, and those ones sometimes he does face to face. Tells him all the items he handpicked for Duck, and systematically waves him away when Duck insists on seeing the receipt and paying him back. Once, hesitant and a bit nervous, he asks Duck if he needs...you know.

 

“I know?” Duck laughs.

 

“...Hygiene uh, things.” Leo clears his throat. “For...you know.”

 

Duck’s a bit touched, if uncomfortable that the man is bringing it up. He can get whatever he needs himself, and Leo doesn’t have to ask him. But he tries to just shake his head very firmly, and keep enjoying his free Kit Kats.

 

Ned Chicane loans him money, from time to time. At first, Duck was terrified he was gonna end up in jail, because he  _ knows _ what Ned’s up to, and he knows only too intimately that that money doesn’t come from an honest living. He always refuses but, well. There are occasions when Ned’s ‘dishonest’ living is the reason he doesn’t get kicked out of his apartment. 

 

“Thanks, Ned,” he murmurs, one of those times. “I owe you one.” He curls his fingers through his hair. It’s beginning to spike up again. God, Minerva will have a fit if she sees it standing up, she’s convinced it’s lightning electricity, coming to ‘strike him down’. “I should really just rent out the other bedroom.”

 

“You hate living with strangers, Duck,” Ned bumps their shoulders together, “And hell, god knows people are dicks, so I can’t really blame you. Just invite me over for a drink, okay? You spend way too much time on your own.”

 

Duck smiles, just a little. “Yeah, okay.”

 

And then Aubrey comes in, all radiant and lighting his fireplace up with her right hand. She plasters her stickers everywhere around his house, faux apologetic but gleefully delighting in putting dumb comic book posters in his bedroom so that he can’t escape Captain America staring at him as he tries to sleep. The girl’s a kid, really. Duck feels protective of her.

 

He thinks, maybe it’s alright not to be...always...self-sufficient.

 

…

 

Mom calls every year, on Christmas Eve, and invites him over to mass.

 

Duck really fucking wants to block her number, but can’t bring himself to do it.  _ What if Dad dies? What if there’s something wrong with Jane? What if there’s something wrong with the house? _

 

_...What if she changes her mind? _

 

He doesn’t pick up, though. He can do that, can control himself and the anguish and the  _ longing _ .

 

Dad calls every month. He calls Duck, “Duck” and always tells him coworker stories. He doesn’t come visit him, and he slips up with the pronouns sometimes, but it’s enough to keep Duck tided over. Before Dad hangs up, he never fails to ask him if he’s seen his sister.

 

(Jane, from where she’s usually hiding on the couch, mimes zipping her mouth shut and then slitting her throat dramatically. Duck tells him she’s probably home.)

 

…

 

When Duck gets his first hair on his beard, he cries like a baby, takes a dozen pictures, and then cries again.

 

He’s never shaving again.

 

…

 

Duck’s never wanted to be chosen. Never wanted to be the centre of attention, or special, or different. His ‘bad boy’ days from high school aside, he’s never actually stood out at all. And  _ that _ was a bad decision he doesn’t intend to repeat.

 

Being trans back before the 2000s was a thing you hid and hoped for the best. Hell, even now, sometimes. Duck’s coasted by on being unnoticed,  _ stealth _ , living on his own and trying to make as few friends as possible. 

 

The universe denies him even that.

 

“Duck Newton,” Minerva insists. “I believe in you. I do not know - though I often try to guess, alas, it is pointless! - why you are so reticent about your destiny, but do not fear you are not up to it.” Her eyes shine. Duck wishes he could be that fucking excited about something that wasn’t trees, though trees are pretty fucking cool. “You have been Chosen for a reason.”

 

“I still think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Duck sighs. He’s tried to dissuade her from his ‘destiny’ a thousand times already. Doesn’t know why he’s bothering. “I mean, wouldn’t someone Chosen at least, like,  _ want _ it?”

 

Minerva smiles. She sits down - Duck’s not sure how she does that, what with her not being physically there and everything - on his ratty couch, and meets his stare head on. Duck’s never disliked her, no matter how hard he wanted to. Minerva’s confidence and general belief in others is something he envies, and she wears it well, without putting down people who lack it. She’s also, well...the closest thing he has to a mom who wants him, just the way he is. 

 

Albeit plus mystical sword, oh well.

 

“You are Chosen, Duck Newton,” she says, and she has so much conviction that it’s hard to insist on the contrary. “I will never force it upon you, but I know that, once the world needs your aid, you will never deny it. You are a good man.”

 

Duck’s glad she vanishes after three minutes. Would be hard to hold in his tears for longer than that.

 

...

 

Mama eyes him up a bit.

 

She’s sipping her tea from her recliner, her fingers brushing past some thin paper on one of those journals she keeps close to her at all times. Even though it’s not a focused look, it still makes Duck want to cross his legs, maybe smooth out his uniform. He’s not a huge fan of authority figures, parents and cops included, and though Mama runs a very...unconventional type of organization, she’s still its leader. Duck is kinda coasting on by, trying not to antagonize her after he already visited Sylvaine by accident.

 

Duck tries to concentrate on his work (he’s drawing up a diagram of the forest for the Pine Guard, and also maybe doodling in the margins) but after a few minutes, he twitches. “What is it?”

 

The woman blinks, almost as if she hadn’t noticed she was staring. Her lips, the reddest he’s ever seen without lipstick on, curl up into a small smile. “Oh, s’nothing. You just got a pimple right in the middle of your forehead, I’m afraid.” She chuckles when she sees him, mortified. “Pft, don’t worry about it, Newton. I’m just surprised, s’all. Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

 

“It’s uh,” he swallows. Mama hasn’t been weird with Aubrey and her puppy-dog-eyes crush on Dani but in his experience, that isn’t too much of a guarantee. “I just have some weird hormone levels. Gotta suck it up.”

 

She lets out a breath. Her fingers entwine on top of the journal cover, both fine and strong. Duck wonders how this woman keeps Amnesty Lodge running, how many hours of sleep she sacrifices, how few friends she has.

 

“Sometimes I wish for the darn pimples,” she mutters. “Feel old as hell.  _ Especially _ with that girl around.”

 

Duck rolls his eyes. “Aubrey is fine, she’s just trying her new medication. She’ll be a bit more settled next week.”

 

“You know what I mean.” Mama waves him off. “All the crushing and bunny rabbits and wild ideas about change.” Her eyes go foggy, even in the cozy light of the lodge. “Sometimes I miss it, being young.”

 

Duck misses it too. In some ways, he misses something he never got to have, like his boyhood and his male puberty, but in others, he just misses how elastic everything used to feel. How every misstep could be turned around with a quick move, how change felt right around the corner, how Kepler wasn’t haunting and instead, loving, back when he was too young to know better.

 

“You’re not  _ that _ old,” Duck says instead, because he’s a flirt.

 

Mama laughs. “Oh, boy, Duck, I’m sorry, but you’re gayer than all hell. Thanks for the free compliment, though.” 

 

…

 

It’s on the last week of October, while Aubrey is quizzing Ned about which horror slasher flick to watch for Halloween, that they both realize Duck has never seen a Ghibli film before.

 

“What do you mean?!” Aubrey cries, throwing herself at Duck and covering him with her arms. He’s startled, but instinctively wraps his arms around her in response, patting her back awkwardly. “How can you  _ not _ have watched Ghibli films? God, how have you  _ survived _ ?”

 

Minerva has a few choice words about that.

 

“My parents were very Catholic and very racist,” Duck reminds her.

 

Aubrey winces. “Yep, that would do it.” Her nose scrunches up, almost as if she’s disgusted just by imagining it. “How did  _ you _ turn out like this?”

 

“Rebel teen syndrome?” Duck jokes. He doesn’t take it any further, though, because he’s well aware that the situation between Aubrey and her parents isn’t ideal at the moment. Instead, he nudges her. “I know it’s like, Japanese and something, but, what even  _ is _ Ghibli?”

 

Ned puts his shoulders around him. It’s unfair that he’s still broader than Duck, but oh well. He’s also quite warm. He tries not to snuggle into the man too much, lest Aubrey get any ideas (she’s got a whole conspiracy about Barclay and him just because he moaned when eating his pastries once). “Ghibli is a way of life. A path of wonders. Another reality.”

 

“It’s an anime studio.”

 

_ Ah. _

 

They watch Howl’s Moving Castle that night, sharing chocolate popcorn and hogging the blankets on the dirty-ass couch that was cheap enough for Ned to buy. Aubrey starts crying the second the gorgeous music plays, but Duck can’t really blame her too much. As the film quietly yet unwaveringly goes on, Duck can’t stop himself from putting his whole attention on Sophie - on the silent resilience she has crafted, on the free way she lets herself speak, on her demands to have something, some _ one _ better.

 

Shortly before the end, Ned falls asleep, snoring so loud that it keeps breaking the tension of the dramatic finale. Aubrey, exasperated, shushes his sleeping form.  _ Merry Go Round of Life _ plays, the strings setting the pace.

 

Duck smiles.

 

…

 

His first Christmas Eve with the Pine Guard, Duck puts his phone on silent.

 

…

 

Duck is forty-six when he walks into his first ever LGBT group meeting in Charleston. He’s driven for the past four hours to get here, he’s pretty much sure he spilled coffee on his uniform, and Aubrey keeps sniffling because it’s January and a bit too cold for her jean vest.

 

“I told you you should have worn a bigger jacket,” he mumbles, rubbing her shoulders. The girl smiles sheepishly back at him, doing nothing but rubbing her cheek against Dr. Harris Bonkers. It’s a good thing he’s furry as hell.

 

“I have to think of my style,  _ Dad _ ,” Aubrey laughs. 

 

Duck freezes, even if it’s for a second. Being middle-aged, queer and single means he hasn’t thought about being a dad in a  _ while _ , probably since before he went on T. More realistically, it’s something he tries  _ not _ to think about. It’s hard to consider being a parent after having a family he can barely speak with, let alone emulate in good faith, and it’s not as if he has someone else to help him with the task. 

 

He’s made his peace with never being a father, never continuing the Newton line, as some might say. Jane’s  _ certainly _ not going to be a mom, if her last horrified reaction to holding cousin Tara’s kid is anything to go by. 

 

But Aubrey calling him  _ dad _ , even jokingly...it’s something. It’s more than something. It’s this lost, scared young woman admitting she relies on him, admitting she might mock him, but secretly looks up to him. In many ways, Aubrey’s the glue that’s tying Duck’s life together at the moment. She’s his connection with Amnesty Lodge, she’s the reason he’s reconnected with Ned after so many years, and she’s the first queer person he’s interacted with in years. 

 

Duck’s almost embarrassed, that a girl can be so much more emotionally stable than him, that she needs to nag him to go out and introduce him to life as it’s been while he’s stood still, alone, in the forest.

 

But maybe he doesn’t need to be embarrassed. Maybe...just maybe...he can be there for her, too. At the very least, make sure she doesn’t make his stupid mistakes.

 

“If you get a cold, don’t come complaining,” Duck scolds her, and grabs the entry meeting pamphlet.

 

Aubrey sticks her tongue out, only to immediately break out in a coughing fit.

 

… 

 

After two more months of pretending he doesn’t think about it, Duck moves into Amnesty Lodge. 

 

His room is across Barclay’s (which isn’t helping to dissuade Aubrey’s crazy shipper theories) and just beside Dani’s, who keeps catching him in his underwear at four AM when he goes to pee (she gives him an acknowledging nod and discreetly turns away, which he’s thankful for). Duck shares a bathroom with ten people, one of whom is literally Bigfoot, and has cooking & cleaning duty on Wednesday afternoons (he’s had to pull out so much disgusting shower hair). On Sundays, the watch movie marathons and Aubrey heats up leftovers with her fingers.

 

Duck can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and Kudos are really appreciated uwu. Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gomadelpelorota) and [tumblr](http://dragonagelesbian.tumblr.com/) where I would love to meet more TAZ fans.  
> I haven't written fic in a while, so I hope this was okay <3.


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